alone on this unwanted pedestal
by Yui Miyamoto
Summary: Tezuka's perfect in everyone's eyes. Except, his own.


**Fandom: Prince of Tennis / Tennis no Oujisama  
Title: alone on this unwanted pedestal  
Pairing: Tezuka ? Ryouma, Tezuka + Fuji  
Rating: PG**  
**Description: Tezuka****'****s perfect in everyone****'****s eyes. Except, his own****.**

**Disclaimer: Tennis no Oujisama doesn****'****t belong to me. And nor does that story by Oscar Wilde.  
**  
Unfeeling.  
Cold.  
Rigid.  
Exacting.  
Motivated.  
Stoic.  
Inspirational.  
Admired.  
Talented.  
Responsible.  
Sharp.  
Irrepressibly and impressibly strong.

These are the adjectives people say to me with their eyes. They talk compliments with their mouths, but their actions tell me how they wish not to touch me. I feel useless like a colorful and elegant vase that everyone admires for its beauty, but is all the more useless. I am not an alien, but "esteemed", the term they have put it.  
I do not think these things at all. If I were able to express myself better than with thin lips and fierce, yet gentle eyes, then simplification would feel like an unwanted ramification. Humans are not responsible enough for the ability to use words, displacing the inclination towards idiocy. That's ingrained into the circuit of our machinery.

Or should I say that for myself?

Do I live to work? Or do I work to live?

If we are supposed to lean on one another, then where does that leave me?  
And that comes to the words that I would describe myself as, though I do not like making things so clear-cut since nothing ever is.

The Prince of Sand.

I am a castle made of sand.  
I made a fortress  
that's eventually going to be taken away  
when the tide comes in  
with its freezing, yearning fingers.

**alone on this unwanted pedestal  
By miyamoto yui**

When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do is immediately turn off my alarm clock. When I feel a headache coming on, I set it for ten more minutes, but I still have enough time to get to school on time while doing all my morning duties. I go to the kitchen with a polite greeting of good morning to my mother and father. (Sometimes he is at work early, though.)

Ever since I was little, I've seen my mother wear a smile even when the circumstances don't complement that cheery expression, like when she tried to comfort me when my arm was injured. And ever since I was little, the only thing I knew to help her was to do things by myself. That was all I could do.  
So, I prepare my own lunch so that my mom is not bothered by me, but she sometimes finds ways to make me one any way. I've lost this round. I let her do my lunch now. Or else she'll complain that I don't need her anymore since I do everything by myself.

My plan backfires, as it usually does. Why do my intentions turn around in such unfavorable ways?

"I'm fine," I always convince myself. And sometimes I mean it. Sometimes, I don't.

All with sincerity, of course.

I go to school. And before everyone comes to practice, I warm up. But when I do, the vision that I am used to being irritated at is not before me.  
As the sweat pours from my face and I brush it away with the back of my left hand, I huff and puff. I almost (absurdly) miss him as I bounce the green object in my hand, attempting to hit the ball as best as I can.

CLACK!  
I close my eyes in pain. My racket falls before I can catch it.  
Maybe it's good that he isn't here after all. If he sees me like this, then I wouldn't know what to do with myself.

The image everyone has of me is starting to bother me. I don't care what people say, but it's, nonetheless, oppressive. This image bothers my reality. It wants to permeate into the realm of my existence, rise to life from its lifelessness. Or is it the indifference I feign in front of everyone when my heart is beating so loudly in anticipation that I am ashamed if they'll hear it and see the apprehension on my face?

Make all the assumptions you want. Tell what you want. Good or bad, I've heard it all.  
From "show off" to "my pride and joy", I've lived through all those stages that I experienced out of chance, choice, and force (which I did not appreciate).

When I open my eyes again, there he is before me like a mirage that suddenly appears when it's convenient for your delusional head. I wish it _was_ some kind of illusion, one of those tricks he likes to pull with his eyes and that ever-shrewd mouth.  
He stands at the gate that leads into the tennis court and holds onto the fence with his fingers. Even though his eyes do not betray his shock, his fingers clamp onto the metal trying to keep him up.

"Tezuka!" his mouth shouts, and we both are startled by the panic and sincerity in the loudness and quiver that seeps through his tone, which is usually so elusive and open-ended with its words.

As he pushes himself off, I immediately reach for my racket and I find myself becoming frustrated and angry. I stand up and look at him.

"Don't worry about it," I coldly say while carefully eyeing him.  
Lightly, I brush off his warm hand on my right arm, which is yanking me with such urgency that I am both disgusted and delighted by his response.

It's hard to stir the manipulative Fuji Syusuke. It is difficult to move him. We are mirrors in this sense.

He may be my other half. I've always thought of him as such…

So, why am I doing this?! Why am I doing the exact opposite of what I want him to do with me? Why am I pushing him away from me?!

He closes his mouth and gives me a blank expression for a split-second until he steps back and puts back that face he shows to other people. He put his hands behind him. Syusuke gives me that smile I most hate in the world.

I know it isn't his real one.

There are many things going in my head and I swim through any of the deep waters that continue to be polluted with unexpected darkness and poison.

I want to touch you. I want you to touch me.

I don't want to be the star student. Can't I just have fun and do average?

"I didn't mean to-" I start to explain, but I can't reach out for him. My body won't let me. I know I'll want to do more…

You're a drug to me, Syusuke. And I want to drink you in more and more.

He shakes his head and laughs as he turns around to go back the way he came. I know he's embarrassed by allowing his true feelings to show in that brief period of time and by my rejection of not only his help, but our these feelings as well.

As he walks away, I stand there watching him as if I'm watching a movie and the camera closes in on his back.

My mother comes to mind: "I'm so proud of you!" She runs her fingers through my hair affectionately.  
"You're on the right track. You don't know how much of a relief this is. Hurry up and finish so that I can have grandchildren!"  
She laughs and I chuckle along with her as my stomach becomes queasy. "Aren't you planning too far in advance?"  
"Not in this country, honey." She goes off. "And your father and I aren't getting any younger."

That's right…I don't want to worry her.

But here as I watch Syusuke walking away while my heart is screaming for him to come back to me. This may be a little incident in others' eyes, but this is a daily occurrence killing me every single day. I think about it day after day and it becomes worse. The gap between us grows wider and wider.

"Great reading!" my history tells me before I leave for lunch. He pats my shoulder to show how impressed he is and I smile back with a shy, yet solemn nod of my head.

I then go to the school roof and listlessly eat my lunch. I don't feel like doing any homework in between classes and coincidentally, I don't have any meetings. Any paperwork for the club can be put off until later. So for the moment, I am given the privilege of breathing.  
Of course, not for long.

The roof door opens and closes just as quickly.  
Echizen stands before me and doesn't offer me his usual "Ossu". Instead, he just sits by me and without discretion, places his head on my right shoulder. He knows better than to pick the other side.  
I lean my back on the fence and then I glance down at him. He's looking up at the clear blue sky. We look at the sky together and I feed him some of my lunch. However, he doesn't stop staring up at the blueness that surrounds us in its vastness, almost endless.

Though there is much to say, we never say anything.

I watch him as he closes his eyes for his daily nap and I brush his hair over one ear. Then, I place my cheek on his head. I don't eat anymore. My eyes watch the cement floor.

I don't know where we connect. We do not start. We cannot seem to end.

In a flash, I find myself walking in on practice and everyone looks at me with such awe. Now, I can feel the emotions that Yamato-buchou may have felt whenever he did the same exact thing.

All alone on this unwanted pedestal…  
They continue to practice and I watch them knowing how much more pressure comes with my position that my elbow starts to act up again, as if sensing their unspoken wishes.

Dutiful son. Wonderful captain. Model student. Outstanding citizen.

The price of strength is that people forget that you also need someone much stronger than you to support and protect you. They do it instinctively. And your pride won't let you depend on anyone. I know that too well.

Syusuke's eyes pierce me with this truth.

I watch him glance at me for a brief second and then he continues his mock match with Echizen. They're very serious and only I know of the tension. I know the reason that causes their anxiety: me.  
The perceptions of themselves. The way they think of me. All the perspectives of what, who, and how we are. All these things clash inside of us like lightning destroying everything in its way with its dire reality and realization of its existence.

I watch intently, a voyeur obsessed with the obscene.

Yes, I am. You are the one everyone looks up to. You're the one with all the answers. The strength that you've manifested actually becomes a curse of some sort. It makes everyone think that even though you feel pain, you'll be fine.

"I'll be fine," I whisper to myself in my head. "I am fine."  
Even if I'm losing my mind gradually, I still fight against what I know may be a losing battle with myself.

However, stubbornly, I won't let myself give up. I want the best. I need the best of everything. Why? I won't get everything if I do a half-assed job.

But, I can't do this alone. I'm not that strong. I look like it, but I am just like everyone else looking for someone to lean on. My heart is breaking. My back can't take any more pressure. I don't want to hear anyone's words anymore.

I want a vacation. I want to run away from it all. I want to let go, damn it!

My eyes wander but for a moment. They close in again on his flushed face, crimson with sweat. It's almost beautiful.  
And even though I never thought about it before, one of the teachers made us read a passage in English about old age. I thought I'd always die young.

Then, in a flash, you come to mind. Syusuke, you were laughing when I came home. To YOU.  
That's what I want. That's all I truly want.

At that moment, some people gasp. I hold my breath, but I pretend to continue my calm composure.

Right before me, Syusuke has successfully copied my drop shot.

My heart crunches. I stop breathing for a good half minute.

As I blink my eyes, there are people congratulating him for such an impressive feat and I nod at their comments towards me, though nothing comprehensible passes through my ears, but I know they're all positive affirmations.

I look at him for a few seconds and then I turn away to leave. My face is blank. I act as if I am unaffected when I really am proud of him.

But I am also saddened. Afraid too.

When I lock up everything and finish all my duties around the school, it's already dark. The lights of  
the school are being turned off and as the cicadas play their melodies along with the crickets to indicate that evening is officially here, I step out of the entrance to find Syusuke pushing himself from the wall.

In annoyance, I question, "Why are you here? And why are you only wearing that?"

I take off my jacket before I know it and put it over his shoulders as if I were his mother. We make eye contact when I pull on his collar. He continues to look at me, not knowing whether to be hurt or aggressive. He's serious today, but where is that strength I'm so used to seeing?

I stand in front of him with no expression on my face.

"I thought you'd come out a little bit faster than this, that's why," he finally says with a laugh.  
Then, he adds while holding up some of the jacket in between his fingers. "Maybe that's worth it."

I clear my throat. "Why were you waiting for me?"  
"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked me. He puts his hand lightly on my left shoulder.  
"To the drop shot?"  
He nods his head slowly, hoping for more from me.

I close my eyes as a surge of anger just boils and takes over. I immediately find myself unable to control my body. I drop my bags to the ground and push his shoulders to the stone wall behind him. "Why did you do that?! You know how much it will strain your arm?!"  
"And it's all right for you to use it even though your arm already is?!" he shouts back.

I've never heard him raise his voice before. It kind of scares me how strongly we affect, respond, and react to one another.

"It's a move I created and perfected."  
"And that justifies everything?!"  
My eyes become even smaller as I try to understand the heart of the matter.

But the more I do, the more I drown. I want to tremble. I want to break down. I want him.

I want him here and now.

Except, all my pain, especially about him, comes rushing through my mind and pumps into my veins. It's the only point of logic pounding into my head.

"I don't want you to injure yourself," I find myself telling him with a weakness unbecoming of me. It's with an honesty that I can't seem to hide when I'm around him.

Out of nowhere, his meticulous nature, which is why we are rivals in tennis and in class, makes him retort, "You don't want me to take up your burdens with you. You're selfish, thinking you can do everything. How do you think it makes me feel all the time?"

I close my mouth slowly because there's nothing I can reply back with.

He continues to ask, "How do you feel when you play?"

I let go of him as he holds his elbow and says to me with strong conviction, "I just tried it once and I'm already aching. How many more times does it hurt for you?"  
His voice cracks at the last question.

Blinking my eyes, I just remain standing there dumbfounded. Little by little, there is a pricking feeling pushing through my heart.

"I didn't do it to irritate you. I did it to get through to you. I wanted to understand what is it that Tezuka-buchou does every day. Why does he look so pained when it appears as if he's calm? Why does  
he always look like he's going to cry when it appears as if he's so strong that he can take anything thrown at him?"

He closed he eyes and then opens them again. Reaching for my face, I almost wanted to step back to run away from such sweet human contact, but he catches my cheeks in between both of his hands. Looking deeply into my eyes, his eyebrows touch one another. Aloud, he wonders with sympathetic eyes, "They say that in some country, their Kami-sama is supposed to be perfect…"

His touch is so warm, but it's boiling and becoming too hot for me. And my emotions overflow.

I hold back my tears even though he's looking straight at me and seeing their formation on my eyelids.

"…but I don't believe that. If we're made from his image, then aren't we replicating his loneliness as well? But no one likes to think that far. People like to believe there's something ideal without a heavy price. They never think how much it must hurt to deal with everything and still be able to deal with it every day. But still, he tries his best every single second of the day, thinking about everybody except himself."

My eyes close and I start cry though I don't sob. I open them as his blurry image stares back at me.

"I don't think of myself as someone great or anything. I'm only one person. I'm only human. I…" I whisper quietly into his ear. "I can't take this anymore."  
I take a deep breath.

I know I'm not perfect. And I don't want to be aspired as such.

He's still holding onto my face.  
I didn't want to burden you with my problems; I didn't know how to say it all; I didn't want to hurt you.

Then, his hands go down my neck, over my shoulders, and around my back as I lean my forehead on his shoulder.

We stay that way for a while, but then, I let go. I try to smile at him because he's lightened my load a little. I am grateful for it.

"Thanks…" I awkwardly say, but he shakes his head and gives me that sweet, sincere smile that I can't ever get enough of, literally and figuratively.

As we're about to leave, a twinkle comes to his eyes and as I lean forward to pick up my bags, he sneaks in a quick kiss on my cheek. Then as my cheeks become warm, he brushes his lips on my ear and tells me, "I love you, kami-sama."

That doesn't even describe anything on my end, Syusuke…

I cough as he laughs at me while putting his bags over his shoulder.

"Fuji!" I scold in my usual tone.  
"Everyone's got their own religion. You're mine."

"If that's so…" Not wanting to be outdone, I pull on the collar and brush part of his white shirt aside. I gently suck on the skin over his collarbone even though my cheeks feel very hot by now. "…then this is the proof of your faithfulness."

He blinks at me. He honestly looks at me with such shock that I chuckle with my hand over my mouth to clear my throat and not show him my smirk. Syusuke didn't believe I could ever do something like that. I can't either.

"I'll never understand you," he announces with a tinge of contempt, but all the more teasing.  
I smile widely. "I didn't want you to."

Before I turn around to leave, I place my hand over his head and mess up his hair. He laughs while I grin even more.

I love that laugh even more than your smile, do you know that? Do you know why? It warms my heart and takes me away from that alabaster pedestal. I've become ordinary like the prince and the sparrow in that story by Oscar Wilde. From his body made of stone, the sparrow carried out his kind, human intentions. And the sparrow stayed with him until his last breath, trying to understand with all of his heart.

Then, I turn around to leave.

_"__How many more times does it hurt for you?__"_ His question makes me want to cry all over again, but I try my best not to.  
When no one knew, it hurt so much that I'd go to sleep while biting my lip from the pain in my arm and even more bleeding from my heart…

But now you know, Syusuke. More than you'll ever know, you understand because you went beyond your perception of me to see the truth.

I stop walking and look up to the dark sky while trying to stop the tears from falling. I couldn't though.

Thank you, to whomever listens. Thank you so much!

Though I am silent, my tears can't seem to stop. I cry even harder.

For the child whom classmates called "teacher's pet",  
For the son who never felt his best was enough,  
For the student who slaves away without a complaint,  
For the captain whom everyone watches and he must be sure not to falter,

For the person who seems inadequate to fulfill all these roles and expectations he has for himself…

These are the meanings of the tears that were left uncried until now.

Quietly, I stand there still watching the clear, yet starry sky before me in between the haziness. After all these years, I finally whisper to myself the words that have wanted to scream from the depths of my heart,

"That's all I ever wanted someone to do for me. That was all."

**Owari. / The End.**

**Author****'****s note:** I wanted to present a Tezuka who is both fragile yet very rigid and strong at the same time. This is why I love him so much. He is "perfect", but I have always loved the aspect in which he's imperfect due to his injured arm. He doesn't use it as a way to pity himself, and makes himself even stronger than before. That's why I cannot get enough of him.  
I did not plan on putting Ryouma here, but I did because I thought it would be more interesting to portray it this way. His relationship with Tezuka is so open-ended that I really like the way it tells, yet not so. And then, of course, you must know by now how much I love Fuji and Tezuka so much. I wanted a Fuji who is playful, innocent, yet very astute. Fuji doesn't act like his savior, nor as an ally or a guide. He's another person that admires Tezuka, but he dares to challenge his view of Tezuka and wants to understand the human that makes his captain the way he is.

To Nelly-chan, this is dedicated to you. Thank you for always reading my angst TezuFuji fics!

Love,  
Yui  
**  
Monday, October 11, 2004**


End file.
